Black Diamond
by Space Cowgirl
Summary: Gambit's latent mutant powers awaken...and bring a new evil with them.
1. Souls

Disclaimer: Remy doesn't belong to me, and this fact makes me profoundly sad. You can help my melancholy by joining the Gambit Group, the most obsessive fan club on the web, at [www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx][1] . The rest of Marvel doesn't belong to me, either. Duh. 

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Author's note: I've seen a lot of Gambit fan fiction on the web, but I've never seen one storyline: Gambit as an evil character. This is my take on how he might turn to evil, and take those he loves down with him…

****

BLACK DIAMOND

**T**hey called him a monster, evil, a psychopath. No one would see his genius, see how his search for perfection would someday make the world a better place for all of them. No respectable scientists would work with him, forcing him to use these substandard thugs to carry out his errands. He needed a magnificent act, a _coup de grace_ to catapult himself back into the public eye. To gain the respect a doctor and innovator of his status deserved. Nathaniel's fingers played endlessly over the keyboard of his master computer, searching through a thousand databases and a million files to find the perfect match. He needed someone strong of character, who would win the public's favor, and at the same time was under-developed enough to make his latest creation appear to be a miracle. The face he chose was no stranger to him, and made Nathaniel smile, his pointed teeth piercing his lower lip and instantly healing. Revenge and redemption. The two went so well together. 

****

"An' then he said, 'let's just be friends, Marie'—all casual-like!" Rogue exclaimed. Jean sighed and tilted her sunglasses down to look at the other woman. 

"Rogue, I'm sure he's just having some personal problems right now. You know leading the unified Guilds isn't exactly a walk in the park." They were both relaxing by the Xavier Institute's pool, but Marie's cheeks were pinker than her slight sunburn, and the familiar high, indignant tone was creeping into her voice. 

"You know, Jean, Ah don't care! If he cares as much as he says he can make time." Jean sighed again, pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and lay back. As if on cue, there was a shuffle of feet at the pool gate and the object of Rogue's anger appeared in their field of vision. 

"Hey cheres," said Remy. "You sure a sight for sore eyes." Rogue softened slightly, and Jean thought they might get through the day without a confrontation, but then Rogue caught sight of the duffel bag in Remy's thin hand.

"What's that, swamp rat?" she snapped. Remy's mouth, with its almost feminine cupid's bow, twisted into an angry frown. 

"It's called a duffel bag, Roguie." Rogue slapped her hand against the arm of her chair and stood up, toe to toe with Remy. 

"Don't you Roguie me, LeBeau. Where are you going?" Jean stood up quietly and went back to the main house. Remy watched her go and then turned back to Rogue, who's hands were crossed and foot was tapping the concrete pool deck. 

"Not dat it's _any_ of your business, Marie…up to Lake Champlain in New Hampshire. Gambit need some R & R." 

"And?" snapped Rogue.

"_And_," Remy snapped back in a pitch perfect imitation of Marie's voice, "I'm goin' with Veronica." 

"Veronica," said Rogue, more a statement of a suspicion than a question. 

"We aren't toget'er, anymore, Rogue. Accept it," said Remy quietly. "I see you in a few days." He took her hand and planted a brief kiss on the glove, then turned and walked away. Rogue slammed her fist into the pool fence, cracking the length all the way down.

****

Nathaniel watched the red convertible speed along the New Hampshire secondary highway; the satellite picture fuzzing as it refreshed itself. Nathaniel's jet was tracking the same route, 19,000 feet overhead. The doctor looked back at the parachute jumper, who was also one of his new employees. He'd have to kill them all very soon, hire real lab techs and legitimate bodyguards. But first he had to set the events in motion to bring about his comeback, his rise. His supremacy. Nathaniel watched the red car. And smiled. 

****

Veronica Richardson was a junior advertising executive with a large Park Avenue firm. She had met Remy LeBeau at the LaPaglia Tratorria Italiano several weeks ago, and liked the mutant man. Now they had a quiet, romantic weekend planned at the most exclusive bed and breakfast on Lake Champlain. Veronica leaned against her black Corvette and looked at her watch. Remy was late. Held up a work, most likely. It had never occurred to Veronica to suspect that Remy did anything other than a normal, high-paying job. She thought his Southern habits were a little crass, and if the relationship progressed any further she'd speak to him about it. Veronica had long coltish legs and flowing chestnut hair that held artful and expensive highlights. She was used to having absolute control. Remy screeched up in a vintage Kharmann Ghia convertible before she could ruminate further about how she'd change him. He hopped out, ignoring the door, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Haircut was a good place to start, Veronica thought. He came over and kissed her cheek. "_Bonjour_, mon chere." 

"Hello, Remy," said Veronica, making sure he didn't lay a kiss on her carefully blushed cheekbone. He looked towards the bricked path up to the cabins. 

"Ready?" He slipped an arm around her waist. 

"Yes, get my bags please?" she favored him with a Chanel-painted smile. He obliged, shifting his tack nylon duffel up his arm. A man who wore an Armani trenchcoat could certainly afford a good overnight bag, she thought. And what was that 'X' painted on the bag? Veronica shook her head, her irritation compounding when a jet went over far too low and interrupted the woodland sounds and peace. Remy's head snapped up, almost reflexively it seemed, and he squinted into the blue sky. 

"Something wrong?" said Veronica, consulting her watch again. 

"Non…" Remy was still looking into the air. Veronica heard whooshing from above, which turned into a rumbling as she looked up and saw a parachute jumper ignite a small jetpack and float maybe 100 feet above them. 

"He's got a gun!" Veronica screamed as the man aimed something tiny and black. There was a report that echoed over the trees and across the lake, and suddenly Remy gave a cry and pitched forward, Veronica's thing's spilling across the dirt parking lot. Veronica screamed, hands flying to her mouth, and ran over to the tall man. "Remy!" The man with the jetpack had disappeared into the tree line. Veronica slapped Remy's face, took him by his collar and shook him. Finally his eye fluttered open. 

"Wha…what happened?" 

"You got shot!" Veronica said, hands still in a death grip on his coat. Remy looked down at himself and then felt the back of his neck. 

"Feel like I got a stiff smack, but I all dere, cherie." Veronica fell on him, sobbing. 

"I was so worried about you!" Suddenly she felt herself shoved off roughly, sprawling on her rear next to her clothes. Remy stood over her, red/black eyes hard. 

"Non, Veronica. You would've been a little disappointed, maybe cried, sure had a great story to tell your friends. But you're a cold, ugly woman an' you don' care about anyone but yourself." His voice was flat, and he turned and simply walked away from her. 

"Well…well…I'm sorry you aren't shot!" Veronica shouted after him. He turned slowly, deliberately. "How dare you talk to me that way?" she fumed. 

"Someone had t'do it sooner or later." He turned again, placing each foot slowly, got back in his car, and then peeled out of the parking lot with a vengeance. Veronica was left to gather up her clothes and go drown her indignation at the hotel bar, where she met a dot com CEO more suitable to her tastes. 

**__**

What's happened t'me? 

Don't you worry.

_Like hell I won't worry. What de hell are you?_

A device.

_Say what?_

A bio-engineered symbiote. 

_I felt you in my when I woke up. Why are you here?_

You're awfully blasé about this whole thing.

_I had worse den you inside my head._

Oh, Remy dear. I don't know about that.

_You won't be laughin' when my doctor friends are pullin' you out an' grindin' you under t'eir heels._

No, I will not laugh. Because I am you now, Gambit. And your soul belongs to me.

   [1]: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx



	2. Time

Remy wondered if it had all been a dream ****

Remy wondered if it had all been a dream. He had driven for hours, aimlessly, and he finally concluded that must be it. A vivid, extremely detailed dream. Because the alternative was that it was true, and Remy wasn't prepared to deal with that crisis. Not right now. He was the heir and leader of the Unified Guilds, he had two women on his case in both New York and New Orleans, plus he was an X-Man, albeit warily and hesitantly accepted back into the fold after the fiasco of the Morlocks and his subsequent abandonment and rescue at the hands of the New Son. Remy slowed as he heard his tires screech on a corner of the winding country road, and realized he was gripping the wheel so hard his hands were leaving imprints on the custom leather. He pulled over and rested his head back against the similarly customized headrest, closed his eyes and felt the wash of emotions sweep through him. There had been times in Remy's life when his pride was pretty damn low, but his one conceit was that he could always keep his feelings hidden, below the surface, always having the trump card up his sleeve. That had all been swept away when Marie left him to die. Knew she had, and left him anyway. Remy wasn't prepared for the betrayal, but he knew when the arctic winds blew him down that nothing in his life was certain anymore. The thief's already shaky foundation had tumbled with one kiss. Remy lunged forward and hit the steering wheel, making the horn give a sharp toot. He was over this! The X-Men had taken him back after the trial; he had worked things out with Marie…sort of. Broken it off, at any rate. He had made his peace with Bella Donna, Jean Luc and the rest, and the Guilds had some semblance of order, finally. So why did all this affect him so? He flashed on something Marie had said, years ago, when he and she both thought she was dying and didn't know how to say goodbye. _Move on, Remy. Just move on. _"Tryin' to," Remy muttered to himself. He started the little red car's engine with a growl and pushed the dark place in him down deep, as he had since he could remember. Push long enough and it would go away. It had to. _It had to._ But this time the blackness didn't fade, it broke the barriers and rushed up at him, and Remy LeBeau tumbled once again…

****

"Some weekend vacation," Rogue commented when Remy's place sat empty for the fifth night in a row. Jean took a small bite of her pasta bowl and frowned. 

"It's not unlike him, though. He probably decided to extend his visit with his lady of the moment."

"Don't remind me," growled Rogue. She had barely touched her plate of grilled scrod. Every one of the X-Men had a different dish—Scott was dining on alfredo, Wolverine was eating his third bloody-as-the-USDA-would-allow steak of the week, and Storm was eating a huge salad made of things from her garden, with a peppery African dressing no one else could stomach. Rogue jabbed her fork into the filet and left it there, slapping her napkin after it. Wolverine looked up from the business of carving apart his beef, annoyed. 

"Am I sensin' some tension here?" 

"You ain't _sensin' _it," Rogue snapped. "You could cut it with your damn steak knife."

"Rogue…" started Scott. "Maybe you need to…" 

"She's just upset because Gumbo is havin' a time with some other girl," put in Logan. 

"And you state it so delicately," said Jean. 

"We broke up, fuzzy, remember?" said Rogue snidely. Wolverine shrugged one shoulder. 

"Anyone with even one eye could see you still got the hots for him." Rogue bristled and Storm finally spoke. 

"Marie's feelings are not helped by you exacerbating them, Logan," she said in her quiet tone. 

"Just tellin' a simple truth," said Wolverine. "Even you can't get on my case for that." 

"Oh for lord's sake," said Marie. "Y'all sound like a damn soap opera. And Ah do _not_ have the hots for Remy, _Wolverine_. " She shoved back her chair and stomped out. 

"Five," said Logan. 

"What?" said Scott, who looked at a loss, even through his sunglasses. Marie's upsets always made him wish he were somewhere else. 

"Five times she's stormed outta here in a fit in the last week," said Logan. "Come to think of it…every night the Cajun's been away." He smiled to himself and stuck a piece of steak in his mouth. 

****

Remy arrived back at the gates of the mansion feeling unusually tired and worn down. Half the time he ran on adrenaline and could go on for days without sleep, but tonight he felt like he had just beat down Magneto single-handedly and then some. The gates opened automatically to the tiny sonic sensor placed inside the front grille of his car and he drove to the garage and parked. It was evening, and Jean was the only one still in the underlevels of the mansion when he came to the dressing room to shuck his street clothes and change back to his uniform. "Gambit," she greeted him. "Long time no see. You have some messages." 

"Shoot, chere," said Remy with a yawn. He slipped out of his trenchcoat and hung it on a hook, noticing a bruise on his forearm. That hadn't been there last time he'd looked…

"Someone named Veronica Richardson—your date, I assume—called in high dudgeon demanding to know why you brushed her off 'five minutes after he frigging got here'." Remy looked over at Jean. 

"Say what?" 

"You dumped your date," said Jean patiently. "And she wasn't very happy." Remy's face crinkled into a frown. 

"Non, Jeannie. I didn't do not'ing like dat." Jean in turn cocked her head. 

"Well…she was pretty sure. And Bella Donna called for you, also upset and rather shrill." Remy heaved a sigh, unbuttoning his loose white shirt and tossing it free-throw style towards the dressing room's laundry hamper. He reached down and shucked his socks, tossing one after the shirt. The other had a red stain on the toe. 

"Damnit," he muttered. "What'd Belle want? Dis time?" 

"She didn't make that much sense," said Jean. "But she was definitely on the edge of hysterical." 

"Sounds like typical Belle," said Remy. "I get back to her later. An' about Veronica…damndest t'ing, Jeannie. I don' remember anyt'ing about our date." He rubbed his chin. Jean felt her cheeks color slightly in the pause, as she realized Remy was basically half-naked and quite close in the small dressing room. He turned to take his bodysuit out of the rack and Jean forced herself back to normal. 

"Well, I take it you had a very good time, whatever you did. You were gone three days longer than you told us." Remy turned back to her, mouth open slightly. 

"_What?_" 

"Remy," said Jean. "You. Have been gone. For five days." He shook his head emphatically. 

"Non, Jean. Two days. Maximum." 

"Five," said Jean, becoming slightly irritated. "Do you want to see the backlog of security tapes?" Remy's bodysuit hung in his hands. He looked paler and suddenly very worried. 

"Non…non. I take your word." He stepped over to her, leaning in close and conspiratorial. Jean could smell sweat and tobacco coming off his body. Their closeness was topped by the fact that he really needed a shower. "Jean, I had a dream. At least I t'ought it was a dream. It was a bad one, and…" Jean nodded. 

"Yes? What _is_ it, Remy?" The thief's face shaded to pure white suddenly, almost as if something terrible had invaded his mind, then he blinked and went back to normal. He even smiled at her, and Jean felt warm again. It was the smile he reserved for Marie, at least at the Xavier Institute. The one that crept across his face, insolent, knowing and irresistible. 

"Not'ing, Jean. Jus' t'ought you could read my mind. For de dream, you know." He was close, uncomfortably so, and Jean felt a drop of sweat go down the center of her back. For a married woman she wasn't reacting very well. 

"I…um…of course." She mustered her composure and reached out her hands, brushing the sides of his temples and his copper hair. He leaned into it almost like a cat. 

"You use a lotion?" he grinned at her again. Jean shut her own eyes and forced her thoughts to move outward, away from the pure physical feeling an empath like Remy could generate and towards his inner mind. She saw his conscious, the whirl of lights and colors, and moved on towards the deep core of his unconscious memory, layers peeling away before her. Nightmares passed—Sabretooth, Morlocks, a pure white landscape, and dreams as well—Rogue, Bella Donna from long ago and Remy and his foster brother Henri. Below those dreams swirled what Jean sought. She almost glimpsed it, and then suddenly a wall of telepathic light so bright and blinding it burned her eyes flew forward and flung Jean away from Remy, so forceful that she stumbled physically. Remy started, and his eyes snapped open. The lecherous light was gone, and he just looked worried and confused again. "Jeannie?" 

"I'm alright," said Jean slowly. She smoothed out her slacks and shirt and stood upright. 

"What'n blazes just happened?" said Remy. Jean took a breath. 

"If I had to guess, I'd say that latent telepathic ability we've speculated about just woke up. And smacked me in the face." 

"You sayin' I'm a telepat' now?" demanded Remy. 

"I won't know until we test you," said Jean. "But I'd be careful who's mind you turn that Cajun charm on for now." Remy nodded seriously then looked down at himself, shivering.

"Was I changin'?" 

"I hope that was your intention," said Jean. Remy picked up his bodysuit slowly. 

"I don' remember…" 

"Remy, are you sure you're all right?" said Jean. Remy hesitated for a split second, then nodded. 

"_Oui_. Sure. G'night, Jean." Jean narrowed her eyes, almost as if his lie was painfully obvious, and then nodded in turn. 

"Sleep well, Gambit." As soon as the door slid shut Remy dropped into the small metal chair that lived in the dressing room, twisting his bodysuit almost hard enough to tear. What the hell had he been thinking? Had he been trying to seduce Jean? Jean, of all people? Whom he didn't even think of as a sister but as an esteemed and certainly more powerful comrade in arms? The scariest part of the puzzle was that she had responded when he moved in like that. Maybe Jean had never experienced a forceful, stripped-to-the-waist man at close quarters. _An' dat's still no excuse at all, homme_, he said to himself. Missing time, telepathy, and the attempted seduction of a woman he both respected and didn't find attractive…something was wrong with him. Remy knew in the back of his mind that the dream hadn't been a dream at all. The telephone rang, and he grabbed it up out of a nervous reflex. 

"What is—I mean, Xavier Institute." 

"Remy?" said Bella Donna's tearful voice. "Remy, what have you done?" 


	3. Deaths

Remy stopped reading newspapers about the time he hit South Carolina ****

Remy stopped reading newspapers about the time he hit South Carolina. They all said the same thing, anyway. Massacre in the Big Easy. Ten Dead in New Orleans Mystery Slayings. Unidentified Bodies in French Quarter Worst Killings of the Decade. And the last one Remy had looked at, before he decided to stick to back roads for the rest of his trip: Fingerprint of New Orleans Butcher Only Clue. 

__

Why?

You know why. 

__

You again, eh? 

When you take a vacation, Remy…my goodness.

__

You can just shut it, homme, 'less you want me to find a gun and do it right here. 

Who are you deluding, Remy? You couldn't wish for the guts to kill yourself. 

__

I killed dem, didn't I?

To which them are you referring? The innocent children in the tunnels, or our more recently departed colleagues? 

__

So it's we now, huh? 

Not really fitting, is it? Since I can twist your mind into a helpless wad whenever I wish. 

__

I'm gonna find you, sooner or later.

Keep telling yourself that, murderer, if it makes you feel any better.

__

Dat's right, I am a murderer! And YOU, whoever you are—you're next on Gambit's list. 

****

The French Quarter was unusually quiet after the murders, the taverns on Bourbon Street populated mostly with tourists. Remy parked the Kharmann Gia in a side alley, put the top up and lit a cigarette as he walked rapidly away from the lights and drunken noise, deep into the old cobble streets that fronted the Mississippi. Buildings rotted here, stores sold goofer dust and love potions, and eyes human and rat watched the tall thief from dark places. Remy's inner turmoil never manifested on his face, even when his key unlocked the crumbling front door of a narrow row house and he stepped into the dank blackness beyond. He paused in the shadows, listening. A wayward drip from a hole in the roof, some rodents scuttling away…no people. Remy started forward towards the back kitchen and the door down to the basement. Immediately his senses told him it was a trap, but the heavy form had already taken him to ground, rolled him over and punched him soundly in the face. Remy's cigarette squashed against his face, mingling with his blood from the cut the unknown fist instantly opened. 

"Some free advice, LeBeau," said Gris-Gris, assassin, voodoo practitioner and all-around unpleasant man. "Glowing cigarette butts make wonderful signal flares." 

"Some free advice t'you, Gris," said Remy, booting the big assassin back into a pile of old bricks. "Get off me." Both men came to their feet at the same instant, Gris-Gris's assassin armor gleaming dully in the light from the street, the knife he held gleaming brighter. 

"Rats always come back to de sewer, isn't dat de saying?" Gris-Gris grinned. Remy moved his wrist imperceptibly, flicked out a card, charged it. 

"I wouldn't know, Gris. I leave de rats alone." He smiled slightly, knowing he looked demonic in the kinetic light and his eyes always rattled the religious Gris "But you'd prob'ly know, since you deir first cousin an' all…" Three things happened then—Gris-Gris started for Remy in a rage, and people burst through both the front and back doors of the house. 

"Remy!" both parties shouted. 

"Gris!" Bella Donna added. Gris-Gris looked at his immediate mistress. 

"But Madame Boudreaux…" There was a click and a gun leveled at Gris's back. 

"Put it down, homme, and de five ot'er pieces you got on you too." Remy peeked around the assassin. 

"Lapin. Good t'see you, cousin." 

"_What_ are _you_ doing here?" demanded Bella Donna. "Dis is in direct violation of de treaty!"

"Kiss my grits, Belle!" snapped Lapin. 

"Take your grits and shove them—" 

"'EY!" Remy bellowed, charging another card. Everyone stopped. "What de hell is dis, a kindergarten?" He made sure to glare at Lapin. 

"Sorry, sir," said the younger thief. "But I t'ought since dey killed our men I should come make sure dey didn' try anyt'ing else funny." 

"Let me kill de killer, Madame. Please," Gris-Gris fidgeted his knife in his hands. Remy dropped the card and ground it under his foot. 

"No one is killing anyone. Yet," said Bella Donna with a raised eyebrow towards Remy. 

"An' sure as hell not you, Gris." Remy jerked his head. "Clear out." Gris-Gris bristled. 

"I don' take orders from any t'ief, LeBeau." Remy felt his temper rising and stepped up to Gris-Gris. 

"Maybe I didn' make myself clear de first time—MOVE IT!" Gris looked past him at Bella Donna, who shooed him away with flicked fingers. He grumbled something insulting in French, then slipped his knife into his armor and shoved Lapin aside to get to the door. Remy reached over and took the large pistol away from his cousin. 

"'Ey…" protested Lapin. 

"You too, mon frere. Dis is between me an' Belle." Lapin cast a look at the fuming assassin woman. 

"You gonna be all right, Rem?" 

"_Oui, certainment_," nodded Remy. "Go on." Lapin went, reluctantly. 

"Well," said Bella Donna when the door had shut. "You certainly know how to make an entrance, LeBeau." 

"Merci, chere," said Remy with a weary sigh. "Don' get de wrong idea, but could we take dis somewhere a little more comfortable?" Belle cocked her head to one side. 

"I don' know dat I can trust you, Remy. After all, you are de killer of eight of mine and two of your men." 

"Dat wasn' me, Belle," said Remy, eyes blazing again. "You know it, too. Don' bait me like you usually do, because dis time I'm gonna snap." 

"I was under de impression you already had," said Belle. Remy did snap, then. He got right up in Belle's face and shouted at her. 

"You listen to me, you Cajun witch and you listen good! I didn' have to come here and risk my neck with dat moron Gris, but I did, for you! I didn' kill your assassins an' sure as hell is hot I didn' kill my t'ieves. I came back here to pick up the pieces, even t'ough, once _again, _both sides o' dis pack want my head!" Belle drew back from him. 

"Sorry," she said softly. "Guess I misjudged you, dis time." 

"_Oui_, just a little," said Remy sarcastically. "Now can you tell me what happened?" He felt almost guilty not telling Belle the whole truth, but if the rest of the assassins knew about Remy's new duality they'd crucify him. 

"Come wit' me," said Belle, walking back towards the kitchen. Remy followed her down the basement stairs, which grew to slippery stone as they went past the water line. Below were the chambers of the Assassins, a place Remy never felt entirely comfortable even on his best day. Belle led him through a dingy storage room, a weapons depot and into a medieval-type sitting room. Remy saw the large, forbidding portrait of Marius Boudreaux over the fireplace and realized it was Belle's private quarters. Underneath two swords were crossed, tied together with a red silk wedding cloth. Remy felt his jaw tighten and turned back to Belle. 

"Some display." Belle looked up like she'd just realized it was there. 

"Don' have much more den memories dese days, Remy. Sorry." He shrugged. 

"Don' bother me if it don' bother you. Spill about de killings." 

"Staged to look like de Thieves killed the Assassins an' vice versa," said Belle, becoming businesslike. "Explosion marks and fires every which way. You sure did a bang-up job, cherie." Remy frowned at the bantering style, one she hadn't used with him since their engagement. 

"One—don' call me dat. Two—I didn' do it." 

"How d'you explain de fingerprint the NOPD has, den?" said Belle. 

"Dey won't match it. I never been convicted," said Remy. 

"Please, LeBeau," said Belle. "You're an X-Man. Your prints are on file somewhere." 

"I was careful," said Remy. 

"You were always careful," said Belle. She took a silver tea service off an end table and dropped a tea ball in to the pot to steep. "But you weren't always bright."

"Don' like you tone, Belle," said Remy. She faced him. 

"Well forgive me, Remy, but after dis, you're ruined here in Nawlins. No one will believe you weren't in on de killings in some way." Remy sighed, sank down on Belle's sofa in spite of his built-in wariness. 

"I know, Belle. Everyt'ing I've worked for is gone, isn't it?" She nodded, and poured the tea. 

"De Guilds will go back to war, probably. And we'll go back to the way we used to be." She stood to take the tea service away, and Remy let his head fall back and his eyes close. 

"I'm sorry, chere," he said. "Damn sorry." Belle padded behind him. 

"It's…alright, Remy." He heard her intake of breath shiver a bit, and some instinct made him snap his head away from her, leaning forward, almost tipping off the sofa. Belle's small stiletto, which she'd had since she was ten, was lodged in the brocade next to his ear. She had missed by a good inch, and smiled apologetically at Remy. "Bang. You're dead." Remy got up and got a wall behind his back, coat swirling, eyes hard again. 

"Belle." 

"Dere were t'ree contracts out, literally hours after de killings, Remy," she said. "I took dem all, I knew it was your only hope. You have to go, now." Remy's lip curled. 

"Yeah. I sure know when I'm not welcome." 

"Take some advice," said Belle suddenly, pulling the knife out of the upholstery and sticking it back up her sleeve. "Don' come back. Ever. If you do you're dead for sure." Her face was regretful. "Bella Donna Boudreaux doesn't miss twice." 

"Oo, merci," said Remy, his trademark sarcasm at it's most cutting. 

"Remy." Belle's blue eyes searched out his mutant ones, knowing she might never see them again. "I'll be damned, but I'm going to miss you." She allowed her face to go soft, and Remy felt the old stirring for an instant. Then he remembered the swords, Julien's blood, and Marius's tribunal, Belle never speaking for him. Never wanting him unless she wanted something from him. 

"I won't," he said. "Because I'll see you again." Her mouth opened, a smile on it. "Save it," Remy told her. "I know you too well." He found his pack and flicked a match against a new cigarette, took a drag, exhaled in the direction of Marius's dour picture. "We're both bad pennies, Belle. We can always find each other in a crowd." He flipped the cigarette away and went to the door, not allowing the turmoil to claim him. Not yet. "_Au revoir, _mon chere." 


	4. Minds

"He was behaving really oddly, and then when he wasn't here the next morning I suspected the worst," said Jean, folding the newspaper with finality ****

"He was behaving really oddly, and then when he wasn't here the next morning I suspected the worst," said Jean, folding the newspaper with finality. 

"And it looks like you were right," said Scott. Wolverine took his cigar out of his mouth and picked up the paper Jean had set down. MUTANT SUSPECT IN NEW ORLEANS MASSACRE. 

"I don't know. This ain't Gumbo's style." 

"Oh for God's sake!" burst out Rogue. "Y'all can't believe he did this!" Jean's mouth crimped regretfully. Scott came over and placed a hand on Rogue's shoulder, consoling. 

"We have to look at the evidence, Marie. The New Orleans police department has a fingerprint matching Remy's at the scene of the crime. The scene itself is marked with explosion burns, and most of the victims were either blown up or had their necks broken." Rogue glared up at Scott, angrier than the other X-Men had ever seen her. 

"Screw you, Scott," she said harshly. "All of you for thinking he's guilty!" She jumped up and fled the living room. 

"Rogue!" shouted Jean, jumping up. "You come back—" Wolverine reached out and yanked Jean down next to him on the sofa. 

"Nice job, One-eye," he said, stubbing out the cigar and walking after Rogue. Scott dropped his head into his hands. 

"Why can't I get through to that woman, Jean?" Jean came over and rubbed his shoulders. 

"Relax, honey. This is a bad time for all of us." 

"I suppose we should try to find Gambit and bring him in," Scott sighed. 

"I'll use Cerebro," said Jean. "I'm sure this isn't what it looks like, Scott." Scott looked up at her, and Jean saw her own worried face reflected in his glasses. 

"What if it is, Jean? Remy could really be dangerous if he ever got it in his head to turn against us." 

"I'm sure he's just…confused," said Jean soothingly, although in her mind she was recalling the incredible jolt of Remy's uncontrolled telepathic power that had come surging up when she tried to read his mind. A telepath as powerful as herself, with kinetic blasts that could level buildings and empathetic charm that would make it all too hard to see him coming…Jean didn't want to think about that. 

****

"So, leavin'?" said Logan from behind Rogue. She was angrily slamming her suitcase into the trunk of her little car. 

"That's what it looks like, doesn't it?" she snapped at him. 

"Hey, babe, you got no call to take my head off," he growled back in the same tone. Rogue heaved a heavy sigh and turned to him. 

"Sorry, Logan." 

"'S alright," he said. He came over and leaned against the trunk with her. "What do you honestly think you can accomplish by running after the Cajun? He's stubborn as a cement block." 

"I have to help him," said Rogue. "He didn't do those awful things." Her lip twisted. "Probably that bitch Bella Donna, trying to frame him." Logan came around to face her. 

"I ain't one for fatherly advice, and I ain't gonna stop you, but listen to me first." Rogue didn't slug him, so he went on. "I know Gumbo may seem t'be a victim here, but in my experience, crazy as he is, he usually knows what he's doing. I'd be careful, Rogue. Real careful." 

"I will, Wolverine, but I will _not_ believe Remy is the guilty one here!" said Rogue. She took her car keys out of her pocket. "I have to go." 

"Give me a holler if you find him," said Wolverine, patting his cell phone. 

"I will. Thanks, Logan." Logan shrugged one shoulder. 

"Don't mention it." 

****

Remy _felt_ the search…a very unpleasant sensation he could live a lifetime without experiencing again. "Cerebro…_merde_," he muttered, pulling the car off the road. He was in Georgia, near Atlanta, trying to decide whether he should go back to the X-Men. If they were hunting him with Cerebro, the answered seemed like a big fat _non_. He might have the advantage here—apparently his telepathy hadn't been a one-time thing. He could read minds and feel probes just like Jean or Xavier. Maybe…

__

Jean? Her mind fluttered, startled, and then she answered. It was a truly weird feeling, Remy decided. 

__

Remy. Where are you? 

Seems like you know, chere. A pause, where the empath portion of Remy's brain felt embarrassment come off her. 

__

Yes…we're worried about you. Rogue especially. 

Dat why you're huntin' me down? 

It's not like that, Gambit. Remy felt anger flare. After all he had been through, at their hands, and they still didn't trust him father than a thief in the night. 

__

Explain to me how it ain't like dat, Jeannie. Explain. 

We…you have a problem, Gambit. You need help. Remy felt his mouth twist into a sardonic smile. 

__

Yeah, boy howdy I need help. I might actually have as many wonderful powers as de Great Jean Grey. I might actually become de most powerful X-Man. Dat would be a real shame. 

Gambit, if you're going to take that tone…

You'll what, Jeannie? Put de psychic whammy on me? Gambit scared, chere. Gambit shakin' in his little spaceboots. Jean was angry now, the prickly sensation creeping along his skin. 

__

You come back immediately. We have to get this mess sorted out. Gambit smiled for real. 

__

Nah, I don' t'ink so, chere. Gambit havin' too much fun. 

REMY—He shut off the link. This telepathic stuff was really pretty damn easy. Xavier and Jean made it out like such a big, sacred thing, when all it was were some physics and a little extra brainpower…

"Ah, crap," said Remy, realizing what he'd just said to Jean. "CRAP," he said louder. What the hell was he _thinking_? _You weren't, _came the obvious answer. Remy let off a string of his most creative French curses, building…and then dying down. He tilted a side mirror of his car to look at himself. His headband and the collar of his uniform framed his pale face, as usual. His red-copper hair was flopping in his eyes, and he pushed it away. His eyes…his eyes scared him. The black pupils seemed to have grown larger, pushing the red that had earned him the name _Le Diable Blanc _to the outermost edge. His eyes sent a rush of feeling coursing through him, wild, dangerous feeling that had never come before. And in spite of himself, in spite of his inbred caution, Remy liked it. He had liked mouthing off to Jean, who was, he faced it, snooty and bossy towards him most of the time. He had, on some level, been secretly proud that he'd managed to take out that many Assassins and have only bruises to show for it. _I like dis, _Remy realized. _Been too long since I been bad. Dis is damn enjoyable. _He didn't have to hold it in anymore, all the rage of the X-Men's and Rogue's betrayal, his residual pain over New Orleans and Bella Donna, his secret impulses to behave like the thief he was. He could let it out any goddamn way he pleased, and if anyone got in his way…Remy looked at his eyes again, and slipped the ace of spades out of his sleeve. "Pow," he said softly to his reflection, then laughed. On the dark country road, his laughter deepened and became an all-out laugh of pure freedom, raging and fast and deadly. Remy LeBeau's heart darkened forever as the sun set behind him, and his giddy laugh was only broken when his cell phone/communicator rang. "'Ello!" he said gaily, now admiring his nearly black eyes in the rearview mirror. 

"Remy!" said Rogue. "Thank God I got you." 

"Well cherie, as I recall you don'," said Remy, cutting and intending to cut Rogue to the quick. She took in a breath on the other end of the line. 

"Where the hell are you? Jean and Scott want your stupid Cajun head." Remy propped his feet on the steering wheel and reclined like a male model, in a pose that he knew would cause traffic accidents if any female drivers happened by. 

"Where I am," he said in the same light tone. "Well, Roguie, dat's for me t'know…" He chuckled again, his bedroom laugh this time. He'd bet dollars to dimples he sent a shiver down the girl's spine. "An' you t'find out. Do call again." He pressed the END button on his phone before Rogue could squawk at him again. He tucked the cell phone back in his pocket and started the car, squealing out onto the road just in front of a large, rusted pickup bearing several members of the Georgia redneck population. 

"Watch where yer goin', dickhead!" one yelled. 

"Moi?" said Remy, pointing to his chest. "Tsk tsk, homme." He looked back at the rednecks in challenge, and then accelerated, the Kharmann Ghia's 8-cylinder whining. The men took the challenge, pulling into the lane next to him, neck and neck with the little car. Remy let them keep the illusion of winning until the two vehicles reached a sharp curve with a drainage ditch on the lower side, then Remy turned his head and _looked_. The pickup's left front tire glowed with a kinetic light, and on the next revolution exploded with a concussive _pop_, the truck overshooting the curve and plowing straight into the ditch. A fire lit on impact, and the rednecks took off yelping and cursing into the night. Remy let the energy in his eyes fade slowly, not blinking, which he knew from experience caused a painful sting. The wind from the road blew the smoke away, and Remy reflected in passing that it was nice to have that ability back. He almost hoped someone else would do something to provoke him so he could test out the telepathy and the kineticism all at once. There had to be a bar around here somewhere. It was Georgia after all. 

****

So you've come to accept it. 

__

Oh, oui. 

Stop that mental chuckling, it's jostling me. 

__

So sorry. You whine a lot, y'know dat? 

I consider myself logical. Now that we have reconciled our duality, don't you think it's about time we form a plan? 

__

Oh, I have a plan mon frere. Don' you worry 'bout dat. 

Admirable. May I best advise you on your course of action? 

__

Gee, let me t'ink. NON. 

Gambit…

__

Didn' work out like you planned? I all broken up. 

Of course not. Will you at least let me in on your…newfound philosophy? 

__

Why sure, homme. Five words. 

And they are? 

__

No more Mr. Nice Guy. 


	5. Fear

Author's note: So, so sorry I haven't posted anything in…gee, over a week I think __

Author's note: So, so sorry I haven't posted anything in…gee, over a week I think. I'm homeschooled, and I've been taking my GED tests these past few days. But now that I'm an official high school graduate, I can devote even more time to fan fiction. Woohoo! Celebrate! Anyway, here's the latest chapter, and I promise I'll be more diligent now that the tests are over. Enjoy. 

****

Events had not unfolded as Nathaniel had predicted. In fact, close to the opposite. It infuriated him for a brief moment, and then his calculating mind began to cast about for a way to turn the crisis to his advantage. His pride-and-joy subject, his shining redemption, had obviously become psychotic. Perhaps if he could play on that, all was not lost. A smile found Nathaniel's face again, and sinister laugh became its companion. 

****

Rouge didn't know where she was going, only knew that she had to find Remy before something terrible happened to him. She drove all night and into the early morning, Maryland, the Carolinas and Georgia passing her by. In a little town in the western part of the latter she was nearly run off the road by an antique fire truck, followed closely by three state police cars, all four with their sirens going full blast. Rogue braked sharply and guided her little car to the shoulder, waiting for the convoy to rocket by. In the distance, over the mossy trees a plume of smoke was rising against the pink sky, their target. Out of protective instinct, and the knowledge that something on fire might put her on the trail of Remy, Rogue accelerated again and drove after the state troopers. 

It was about two miles to the small roadhouse, or what was left of it. Part of the east wall had collapsed in on itself, and the kitchen side was smoldering and black. Broken glass, beer cans, burnt shards of wood and unidentifiable trash was scattered over the parking lot, and Rogue stopped her car short of it to protect the tires. There were two overturned and burnt pickup trucks in the lot as well, and the firemen from the speeding engine were training a hose on the still-sparking building. The state troopers had fanned their cars out behind the fire truck. The actual policemen were helping a cluster of burnt and battered patrons out of the collapsed section. Rogue had a terrible feeling about the mess, and she started walking, getting close enough to hear the moaned comments of the survivors. "Came in here and just busted up the place…" said one man, then collapsed to the pavement. A trooper helped him over to the hood of his cruiser and sat him down. 

"Tell me 'bout it, Vern." 

"Never seen anything like 'im," said the man, his skin almost black with soot. He also had a bleeding gash oozing above one eyebrow. "Just all of a sudden started bustin' up the barroom, Zeke and Henry over there tried to throw 'im out, but he whalloped 'em like I've never seen. Busted Hank's nose, sent poor Zeke right out the door." 

"Was he local?" said the state trooper, applying a compress to Vern's wound. Rogue quickly stepped behind a tree as one of the others came back to his car to call for an ambulance. 

"Hell no," said Vern. "Never seen 'im before. Sounded like he was from way down there, Mobile or N'awlins." 

"Why'd he go off on your and th' boys?" asked the trooper. Vern rubbed his head regretfully. 

"Don't rightly know, Dave. He had a real weird look about 'im…sunglasses at night, one o' them long coats like from the films, and he just sat there, smilin' at us. Real unfriendly-like." 

"He attack you?" said Dave the trooper. Behind her tree, Rogue's fingernails were leaving half-moons in the bark. _Say he had a reason to attack you, you dumb redneck bastard—give him a reason!_

"No…not me myself," said Vern. "But he sure did put the moves on Dora, you know that cute little cocktail waitress? She was all over 'im. Then Zeke said somethin' to her about how she was actin', teasin' like…" Dave nodded encouragingly. "No one but a crazy man would make anythin' out of it," said Vern earnestly. "But this bastard—man oh man. He jumps up and whips out this karate staff, and smashes the bottle on Zeke's table—Jack Daniels, nothin' cheap!" Vern's face was getting red from his indignation. "So Zeke and Hank ask him polite-like to leave, and he lays into 'em." Vern swallowed. 

"Then what?" said Dave. 

"Then…" said Vern. "Then he goes an' does a number on the backbar and anythin' else that gets in his way. An' as he goes to leave he turns around and just LOOKS at the kitchen door…call me a goddamn liar if the thing didn't blow isself off the hinges, set fire to the whole damn back o' the building." 

"Wow," said Dave. 

"Damn right," said Vern. "I think he was a…you know. Mutant." With his twang, it came out mue-_tant_, but Rogue didn't even need to hear the verbal confirmation. _No. Not true. No no no! _She turned to run, to go back to the car and forget the little roadhouse, but movement in the woods beyond the burned structure caught her eye. A figure, moving through the trees and undergrowth…turning…_smiling. _

"Son of a bitch," breathed Rogue. She rocketed straight up, banking high over the roadhouse and coming down in the woods twenty yards beyond. "Who's here?" she demanded in her most strident voice. He spoke at her elbow, so close she almost jumped back into him. 

"Miss me, chere?" 

"Remy!" Rogue shouted. He clapped one hand over her mouth as she spun, and she was momentarily frozen by what she saw. Remy's eyes were almost purely black, only the thinnest ring of red remained. His skin was pale and had taken one a blue tinge, and there were dark hollows in his cheeks that hadn't been there when he left. He looked gaunt and…_frightening. _The second thing to penetrate Rogue's mind was that his bare pinkie and index fingers were clapped in close contact with her cheek—but there was no jolt, no rush of his foreign thoughts, no horrible, suffocating feeling of taking a life not her own. "Mmph!" said Rogue. Remy put the finger of his other hand to his lips, then took the offending one off her mouth. "Remy," breathed Rogue, feeling the blood leave her head and go south. "You touched me." He looked down at his hand and smiled in an almost embarrassed manner. 

"Oh. Yah. Guess I got my shield back, neh?" His grin returned, but it wasn't the carefree, knowing smile that he usually wore around here. This one was edged with malice, and somehow far more intimate, as if Remy knew her darkest secrets and relished them as his own. 

"I…" said Rogue, feeling a thousand words jam up behind her tongue. "You…" He pressed another uncovered index finger to her lips. 

"Shhh, Marie." His head dipped and he was kissing her, his hair mingling with hers, lips warm and insistent. Marie sank into the feeling for an instant, then her instincts kicked in and she shoved him back. 

"Stop, Remy!" He glared at her. The glare, like the grin, was far from his normal expression. This look said he would hurt her, deep and painful. 

"Can't be you have someone else, mon chere." A mocking grin now. 

"Just…hold on," said Rogue, holding up her hands and taking a breath to bring back her composure. "How the _hell_ did you get your shielding ability back?" Remy shrugged. 

"You really care?" He moved in to kiss her again. Rogue's shove was harder this time. 

"Stop!" Remy stepped away from her and crossed his arms. 

"What, Marie? You scared? Or could it be dat you such an ice princess by now you get off on de fact no one can touch you?" Rogue felt her mouth drop open, but she snapped it shut and returned Remy's evil stare. 

"I don't know what's happened to you, Remy, an' I don't know that I want to. You need to come home. You're in trouble." 

"Rogue," said Remy, shaking his head with amusement. "Rogue, Rogue, Rogue. I know I in trouble. You honestly t'ink I care?" He took and swift step towards her and pinned her to a tree. "I'm having de _time of my life_." His lips brushed her neck, ear, cheekbone. The kinetic shield tingled against the skin. Despite her fear and anxiety, Rogue felt herself responding to him. "Come with me," Remy whispered. 

"No…" said Rogue, her voice lowering to match his unconsciously. "I can't…I won't…" Teeth nipped her earlobe, and Remy's warm lips traced down towards hers. 

"Who's stoppin' you?" Remy breathed. Rogue put a hand on his chest. 

"Remy." 

"I love you, Rogue." His mouth fluttered against hers as he spoke. "I made a mistake. Come with me." 

"Remy." His tongue brushed just inside her lips, an-almost kiss. 

"Come with me." Rogue was slipping. The husky voice was an opiate, pulling her under. "You need me." 

"NO!" Rogue shouted explosively. She grabbed Remy's shirt and sent him spinning away. "This is wrong! Don't you see? We can't do this now!" Peripherally she heard the state troopers starting to move towards the noises in the woods. She turned back to Remy. "We have to go." He shook his head, patronizing. 

"Non, chere. You had your chance. Now we do it Remy's way." He grabbed her arm, yanking her deeper into the undergrowth. He was a strong man, and Rogue was off-balance after the onrush of hormones. She followed him, stumbling over a low root and thumping into his back. He jabbed her hard in the ribs with an elbow. "Watch it! You wanna get us both caught?!" 

"Sorry!" whispered Rogue. "But this isn't exactly my fault!" Remy turned on her, grabbed her by both arms, and hissed into her face. 

"You listen and you listen good, _Roguie._ You're in dis game now, an' we're playin' it wit' my rules. So don' get smart or you'll find yourself on a fast rocket to de moon. Understand, chere?" Rogue knew here eyes were wide. She was too shocked even to be angry. 

"Remy…what's wrong with you?" He smiled and let her go. 

"Not'in', chere. I'm just peachy." He turned into the thicket again, pushing the foliage aside until they came to a back road, and Remy's car. He opened the door and patted the seat next to him. "Room for one more." Rogue swallowed and walked forward, feeling cold even in the Georgia air. 

"I'm coming." Remy smiled at her as she got in and shut the door numbly. 

"Relax, cherie. You in very good hands." Rogue gave a small, false smile. 

"That's what I'm afraid of." 


	6. Caught

Author's note: My apologies to all my readers who had to wait a month for the next installment of this story…circumstances beyond our control ,as they say __

Author's note: My apologies to all my readers who had to wait a month for the next installment of this story…circumstances beyond our control ,as they say. As to the events in this chapter: SunTrust really does have it's corporate headquarters in Orlando, Florida, although I made up all the details of it's robbery. (If it was that easy, I woulda knocked it off a long time ago…::evil grin::) Enjoy!

****

They had just crossed into Florida when Rogue's communicator rang. She answered it with a glance at Remy, who seemed to be paying no attention to her, tapping the steering wheel and humming a tune. "Hello?" said Rogue hesitantly. 

"Rogue!" It was Jean, her voice at its highest pitch of indignation. "Rogue, where are you?!" 

"Flo—" started Rogue. 

"You have one chance to bring him back here, Rogue—one, and then we'll treat you the same way we'll treat him!" 

"Oh, for the love a god, Jeannie," said Wolverine in the background. Rogue heard a scuffle, and then Logan gain control of the microphone. "Listen, Rogue, them that cares ain't too pleased with the way you took off after Gumbo. Is he there with you?" 

"No…" said Rogue, looking at Remy again. He was smiling beatifically, nodding his head with the song now. 

"Lie to me, that's fine," growled Logan. "Listen, they're worried about him, and if I was you I would be too. This ain't natural." Rogue felt Remy jerk the communicator off the front of her blouse. 

"Logan, mon ami," he said. "Take some advice an' get dat stick surgically removed from your ass." Over Logan's incensed cursing, Remy winged the communicator out of the car and settle back, smiling at Rogue. "Nice day for a drive, neh?" 

"Yeah," said Rogue nervously. "Remy…can we talk?" 

"Not about me," he said shortly. He took one hand off the wheel and reached down, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb and her thigh with the back of his hand. "Can' you just relax an' enjoy dis, chere? It may never be de same again." 

"I'll say," muttered Rogue. Remy frowned, and jerked his hand away from hers. 

"Mon dieu!" he said. "You are de most unpleasant woman I've ever known, when it comes right down to it!" Rogue's fear broke, and she shouted back. 

"And _you_, Remy LeBeau, are th' most arrogant, self-serving, _stupid_ son of a bitch I have ever met!" Remy looked at her, shocked, and then reached over almost casually and slapped her across the face. Rogue's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. 

"Oh no. You did _not_ just slap me!" 

"Shut you up, didn' it?" asked Remy smugly.

"Stop the car!" said Rogue. Remy tapped the brakes once so Rogue went forward into the dashbord. She pushed back, breath coming in enraged gasps. 

"Oo," said Remy. "Hissy fit time, eh chere?" 

"I'll give you a hissy fit!" growled Rogue, drawing back a fist. Remy didn't blink, didn't even looked the slightest bit worried. HeHe turned to face her, leaned back against his door, and smiled. 

"Come on, Rogue," he thumped his chest with one hand. "You know you want to." Rogue made her fist a tight hammer with the thumb on the outside, drawing back until she felt her muscles sing. She'd leveled walls with this hand before…but for some reason, as she faced Remy, she was shivering. "Come on, chere," he said again. "I give you a free one, jus' for fun." Rogue felt tears prick her eyes and her cocked arm began to shake violently. Remy moved like living mercury, pinning her face down on the seat in a martial arts hold faster than Rogue could react, and then flipping her over to face him. He took her still-tight fist and drove it into his midriff…and it stopped, buzzing and stinging, a few inches away. "Gotta love dat shield," he smiled. He got off Rogue and shoved her away from him. "Sit dere and shut up if you know what's good for you." Rouge could feel the blackness starting to swirl up, but then Remy shook her violently. "An' don' faint!" He muttered a curse in French and gunned the Kharmann Ghia's motor. Rogue gripped the dashboard like a lifeline, not daring to look at him. 

****

"Mon dieu, what a charmin' place," said Remy sarcastically. Rogue looked up dully at tall office towers and a few small, cheap stores sandwiched between. 

"Where are we?" 

"Disney World," said Remy with his new, insane cheerfulness. "Or at least depressing downtown Orlando." 

"Orlando?" said Rogue. "What's here?" Remy took her chin none too gently in his hands and jerked her head sideways to a tall tower in the distance. It had four spires and a huge sign across the front. SunTrust. Rogue shrugged slowly, shoulders drooping. She felt doped, doped and exausted and on edge from trying not to anger Remy. _Bash his smirking head and get out of here_, said one half of her mind. _Crazy girl, he'll kill you if you try, _said the logical half, and Rogue had to agree with it. This Remy was another being entirely from the one she knew, unpredictable as any kidnapper and definitely much more dangerous. 

"Ain't you gonna give me de big puppy eyes an' ask 'why, what's SunTrust, Remy my darlin'?" Rogue turned her head slowly, eyes burning. 

"Wasn't plannin' to." Remy flicked out a card and charged it with a glance. 

"Thin ice, girl," he tossed the card out of the car and blew out a section of the sidewalk. "Thin ice." 

"Fine!" snapped Rogue, unable to keep up her scared-little-girl attitude any longer. "What is freaking SunTrust, _Remy my darling?_" He braked, ignoring the horns behind him. 

"I should kill you, you little wench." Rogue's tears broke, all the stress compounding. 

"Then do it, Remy! Kill me!" She turned to him and screamed at full volume. "_Kill me!_" Remy blinked, and for an instant it was like a window in his mind had opened. His eyes became the soft, laughing, understanding ones she knew, and his thin faces changed, looking almost confused. Then the lock snapped back into place and he smiled at her, cool and utterly evil. 

"Anot'er time, cherie. Right now…" he jerked his head at the SunTrust tower. "We're gonna pick up some travelin' money."

****

The SunTrust tower, Rogue found out, was the headquarters of a Florida bank, with huge vaults in an armored room on the twentieth floor. "Why not the basement?" asked Rogue. 

"Because, my cute little idiot," said Remy. "De water table in Florida is so high they have too much of a flood risk. If it was a basement vault I would've used you for target practice miles ago." 

"_Why_ are you doing this?" cried Rogue, suddenly, desperately. "This isn't you, Remy! What's turned you into this thing?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know," chuckled Remy. "An' as for de rest of dat impassioned speech…dis _is _me, Roguie. Dis is de me I was before you an' de X-Men. T'ese are Gambit's true colors." He stopped in a community lot a few hundred yards from the tower. "An' damn, it feels good to let 'em show." He vaulted the door and started walking. "Come on, chere!" he called. "Get dat sweet rear in gear!" 

****

The robbery was very smooth. Marie, shaking still, gripped Remy under his arms and floated off the ground. "One t'ing before we get down t'business," said Remy as they passed the third floor windows. "If you're t'inkin of droppin' me off before our stop, I won' waste anymore time. I'll kill you." Marie was silent, merely gripped his arms tighter. "Understand?" said Remy sharply from below her.

"I understand," said Marie tightly. Remy smiled and settled back against her hands.

"_Bien_, chere. Could ya possibly fly any slower?" Marie gritted her teeth, and then kicked in a burst of speed and rocketed them up to a twenty-second floor windowsill. Remy jumped off and quickly blew out the window, and the vault after it. In hardly any time, Marie and Remy were driving away from the screeching alarms wailing police cars, just a normal couple in a Kharmann Ghia with two hundred thousand dollars in the trunk. 

****

"Don' mean to excite you, chere, but we bein' followed," said Remy once they were cruising up Interstate 95, heading for Pensacola and ultimately Louisiana, Texas, and then, Rogue knew, her death. She was of no use to Remy any longer. "Ey," said Remy, jabbing her on the shoulder. "Is everyone payin' attention?" 

"What?" growled Marie. Remy grinned at her. 

"Don' be like dat, chere. You're wit' me. Be happy. Turn dat frown upside down." He grinned. "An' I said we're bein' followed." 

"What?" said Rogue. "By who?"

"Whom, chere, and I don' know," said Remy. "Wouldn' be your X-friends, now would it?" 

"You know it's not," sighed Rogue. "I came down here on my own to try and help you." 

"An' you certainly did," agreed Remy. "Let's find out what dey want, non?" He jerked the wheel over in to a deserted rest area, the tropical forest growing over the picnic areas and the tiny information center. Soon a black limousine pulled off the highway and came to a stop behind the sportscar. 

"Who is that?" said Marie. She felt a shiver up her spine. Something was not quite right. Remy felt it too. He got out of the car and stood in a ready stance, black eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, slowly the door of the limousine opened. Rogue felt an almost anticlimactic sense of recognition at the figure that stepped out, but Remy flipped out two cards and dropped to a fighting posture. 

"You," he growled. The figure nodded his head once, courteous and not the least bit threatening. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. LeBeau," said Sinister. 


	7. Grief

Author's note: GambitGirl presents…the perils of actually having a life __

Author's note: GambitGirl presents…the perils of actually having a life! Well, for one, you don't get to write fan fics for months at a time ::cries::. But you get money to buy more Gambit comics, because you have a job and some semblance of a social life (the horror.) Regretfully, until my summer occupations have ceased, this will be my last dark/evil/angst-ridden/screaming-yelling-crying/Gambit and/or Wolverine fic. Do you have any idea how hard it is to write twenty-eight straight pages of angst interspersed with explosions? You do?! Well, this is_ FF.net I suppose…_

Anyway, enough of my ramblings, I hope you all enjoy the two (FINALLY) concluding chapters to 'Black Diamond'. 

****

Nathaniel knew he had gotten to his creation not a moment too soon. LeBeau's eyes were glassy and pure black. He was tinged with madness, as the poor girl with him bore witness. But Gambit's victim was looking at him like she was deciding whether to tear his head off now or later. Certainly not a shrinking violet. Almost worse, in a way. "Remy." She looked back at him. "What. The hell. Is going on?" 

"Simple, miss," said Nathaniel, stepping forward smoothly. "I'm making my comeback. Mr. LeBeau is my aide, albeit my unwilling one."

"You mean…" said Rogue in a low voice. "He's not really crazy?"

"Of course he is," said Nathaniel. "As a bedbug. He has all the homicidal impulses of the most depraved sociopath. But." He held up a finger. "He is controlled. He is the perfect soldier, the things all those agencies and governments and regimes have strived for for so many years. Now they will have it, thanks to me." He smile, his small pointed teeth gleaming in the Florida sun. "Of course, there will be a price attached. Just a pittance, really, along with some strategically placed publicity." 

"You son of a…" started Rogue.

"Remy," said Nathaniel, his imperious accent overriding her squawk. "Come to me."

"Like hell, homme," said Remy in a conversational tone. Nathaniel _looked _at him, and suddenly Remy went stiff, his already blank eyes becoming dead. Robotic. Under control. He walked over to Sinister and stood. 

"No," said Rogue. 

"I have no business with you," said Sinister. "You are free to leave." 

"What're you gonna do to him?" said Rogue. She was shaking. Ice was starting to spread through her body, and with it helplessness. She had to stall him. 

"Tweak this and that. Make the finished product brilliant," said Sinister. "Mr. LeBeau is the ideal subject—I could not have created a better one. He had great latent telepathic and kinetic abilities, just waiting to be utilized." _And a dark side, _thought Rogue, _just beggin' to be put to work. _"Unfortunately, Mr. LeBeau, _because _of his new telepathic skills, began to remember the encounters with his subconscious," said Sinister, "and it has now become dominant. That will shortly be taken care of."

"How?" cried Rogue, seeing him turn and gently but firmly shove Remy towards the limousine. 

"Lobotomy," said Sinister. "Good day."

****

Rouge leapt at him. She knew it was stupid, that Sinister could blast her six ways from Sunday without even thinking. And that was exactly what he did.

When she came to, she was in a small, serviceable, prefabricated cell, the type that a county jail would erect. "How quaint," Rogue muttered. 

"Isn't it, though?" said Sinister as he materialized in front of her. Rogue came at the bars, intending to rip the smirk off his face. "Now now," he said. He prudently stepped back as the steel bent in two under Rogue's grip, more than wide enough for her to come through. But Sinister was nothing if not a calculating tactician, and he knew he had the upper hand after the jolt he'd given her. Rogue knew it too, and it made the molten rage that had been flowing just under the surface for the past days crystallize in her mind. "You had to do it, didn't you?" tsked Sinister. "I was poised for a comeback—nay, a _brilliant_ comeback, and then you, you little Southern fried hussy, had to bolt in like an avenging angel and ruin it all." Sinister slammed his white fist into the wall. He was angry as well, truly, and below her rage Rogue felt afraid. 

"All I want is Remy," she said, quivering. "He's not your toy, Sinister. He's not your dummy or your project or your slave. He's mine." 

"But he isn't, is he?" said Sinister, eyes glowing. "Not anymore. Men like Remy LeBeau are not capable of love, Marie. They fiddle and procrastinate and woo you with honeyed words. But they do not love. They never did, and he never will." Unbidden, tears came to Rogue's eyes. 

"You're wrong," she whispered, feeling inside not grief but a sudden certainty that Sinister didn't know Remy, didn't know her, and that would be his undoing. "You're so wrong. Remy _is_ capable—of love and a lot of things _you_ couldn't even begin to imagine. Remy loves me. He always has." Rogue looked at the cracked cement floor of her holding area, the truth more painful than anything in her soul. "And I took that love and threw it away." She looked up at Sinister, triumph in her eyes. "Don't you see? It wasn't Remy. He's kind and decent, not honest but trustworthy. He's an utterly loyal and lovin' person. It wasn't Remy." She found Sinister's eyes, her own blazing with the rage she allowed to finally surface. "It was me. 'Cause I'm a mean one, Nate, and you made a bad mistake keepin' me alive." Rogue ripped off her gloves and flew at him, hands grazing his armored shoulders as he reflexively ducked. She made her hands into fists instinctively, crashing through the wall beyond her cell and after that, into unknown. 

**__**

Dis is bad. Merde, _LeBeau, dis is real bad._

You're ignoring me, Remy. 

****

An' me, mon frere.

__

Don' take dis de wrong way, you two, but…SHUT UP!

****

Touche'. 

Poor little Rogue…she really hated you in the end, Remy. 

__

Him. Not me. 

But he is you. We are one. You disappoint me with this betrayal. 

__

BE QUIET! Dis is my head! Mine!!!

****

Not anymore. Your pretty lil' copper head belong to ME, mon ami. 

Too true, I'm afraid. Face it, Remy. Nothing can save you now. 

****

You liked de dark side. I know, because I did. An' I am you.

The real you.

****

Give in, Remy.

__

No!

Have you ever seen the astral plane, Gambit? It's cold. Endless. Black. Filled with the screams of anguished minds and dead souls. I can send your pitiful conscious mind there so easily it would make your head spin. 

****

Literally.

And then where would you be? 

****

Driftin' forever, like de cosmic dust you are.

Give in, Remy.

****

Only way, mon ami. 

Become whole with us, Remy.

__

Stop…quiet!

We can shut the screams out. 

****

We can shut out de wind.

And the memories. 

****

Excommunication. Morlocks. Creed. Dat cold snowy place inside you you tried so hard t'forget.

Sound appealing?

****

And of course we'll block out…

Rogue.

__

Dat noise…

****

Rogue.

__

Rogue! 

****

"Rogue!" The hoarse scream came almost directly in her ear. 

"Jesus!" Rogue screamed back. And then suddenly Remy's arms were around her, pulling her close, the shield sizzling from all the impact. Rogue promptly gave him such a shove he went a full five feet backwards. 

"Rogue!" he cried. "It's me! It's—" Suddenly as if a steel safe had slammed, Remy's eyes went black again. But before that, they had been red. Normal. 

"Remy?" she said hesitantly, knowing it was too late again. 

"Nope!" he said, grinning happily. Rogue stood, bushing cement dust off herself. She was in a very nice living area, furnished with antiques and a deep-red and midnight blue Persian rug. Behind her a huge hole had been made through a reinforced wall, and she could see her cell. Sinister was gone. Rogue hissed a curse and turned back to her more immediate problem. "Happy t'see me, chere?" he inquired. Rogue held up her hands. 

"Yes, Remy, I am happy. Happy that you're alive, at least in body. That Sinister didn't get to pull your skull apart yet. But I swear to God…" Her voice went low, a growl Wolverine would have been proud of. "If you try to lay a hand, a card, or a karate kick on me, I'll punch through that shield and rip you limb from limb." He started for her, challenged. "I MEAN it, Remy!" she shouted. Even Remy's dark psyche could tell she really did. Rogue felt herself shaking. Not good. This was not right, went against some fundamental law of the universe, being ready to kill the man you loved. And Rogue knew that she did, still, deep down past all her pain. 

"I said it before, cherie—you won' kill me," smirked Remy. "Not in a million years. You ain't got de guts to swat _dis _fly." He started for her again. "Now how about we forget dis whole nasty business, kiss, an' make up?" Rogue could feel the attraction, as she always could. Maniac or thief, the charm was something Remy would never let go of. Rogue took a breath, let it out, dropped her hands to her sides. 

"All right, Gambit. Okay. Deal." He smiled. 

"Good good." Came to her, pulled her into an embrace. Their lips met. Rogue whispered around the kiss. 

"I want it to be real, Remy. For an instant. To make up for all this time." He understood, and Rogue felt the shield drop. She pulled back, looked into his eyes. In the instant of eternity, Rogue saw that the sane, still-_Remy_ part of his mind understood. She whispered, barely having the breath to get the words out. "I'm sorry, Remy." 

Then she leaned forward and kissed him. 


	8. Bittersweet

"Well, well, well," said Sinister as he appeared in the door of the sitting room ****

"Well, well, well," said Sinister as he appeared in the door of the sitting room. He began to applaud the two fallen bodies. "Bravo and brava, what a splendid performance." 

Rogue was lying on the floor, skin pale, hair and limbs akimbo as she had fallen. Remy was on the floor sprawled in the opposite direction. He was only pretending to be unconscious. _Do somet'ing! _his mind screamed. _I'm tryin'! _he shouted back. Got to get up before Rogue came to. Because Rogue would be him, the dark, dominant part that she had absorbed and freed him from. Gotta get up before Sinister came over. Because if Nathaniel got within striking distance he was dead. Couldn't get up because he seemed to be paralyzed. Merde. 

Rogue stirred. "No…" she moaned. Remy knew it was his subconscious-turned-conscious talking. 

"Remy," said Sinister. "You little faker. I see you there, playing possum." 

__

Possum would prob'ly do better in dis mess den I am… 

"Rogue!" Rogue suddenly screamed, sitting bolt upright. Her eyes were black and kinetic energy writhed around her. Remy felt the dark, familiar mind broil over into his own. He knew in that second he was dead, that the illustrious life of Remy LeBeau would come to an end in Nathaniel's parlor. Knew it when his own damn mind gave him the whammy…wait. 

"Dat's not right," he said aloud. He could feel Rogue's thoughts in his own mind. If he could feel Rogue's thoughts that would make him telepathic. If he was telepathic…

"No…" breathed Sinister. "I don't believe this…" Remy jumped to his feet like a cat, eyes and equal mixture of red and black and blazing mad. He grabbed Rogue, who was still snarling patois curses, and pulled her to his chest. 

"Well den," said Remy LeBeau, thief, telepath, and a man with a new lease on life. "Homme, we got to work on dat." 

The psychic scream linked with the wave of kinetic energy that went straight out from Gambit's body like a glowing tsunami, energy of the physical and astral planes combining to reach Sinister's mind, blowing it to tiny, fractured shards. Spreading from the upscale house outside Savannah, echoing up to the stars and free-falling back down, causing Professor Charles Xavier, recently returned from his vacation in Florence, to spill his welcome-home tea down his brand new Italian silk tie.

****

Homecoming was awkward, to say the least. Rogue was treated coolly by Jean and Scott, dosed with Xavier's perpetual understanding, and held with a certain sympathy by the other women at the school. Gambit's life went back to surprisingly close to normal. The rest of the team, except for Rogue and the good-hearted Storm, ignored him. He lived in the boathouse, listened to the lap of the water against the pilings, and thought of the Louisiana bayou. The mistrust was not so easy to block out now, what with his new telepathic powers. Jean politely refused to teach him the basics of control, and Remy was loath to subject himself to Xavier's kind fathering. He went to Massachusetts and spent a week with Emma Frost, who gave him a no-nonsense crash course. 

When he came home, within a day, he knew he couldn't stand Westchester anymore. The colonial house, the lush grounds, and the utter coldness of the people who had called themselves his friends was driving him over the proverbial edge. Just before dawn, on a Wednesday, Remy was creeping past the main house to his car, the Kharmann Ghia having be extracted from legal quagmire and returned to him. He didn't expect, or want, to make a clean getaway. "Runnin' like a swamp rat again, eh LeBeau?" She was standing by his car in her pajamas, high-necked green Chinese ones in silk. Remy set down his bag. He couldn't sense any hostility from her, just sadness. Sadness, disappointment, and resignation. Suddenly, Remy felt tears slipping down his cheeks to mirror the ones on Rogue's. Damn them all, these people who had made him run. Made him always moving, never finding peace, a wandering spirit lost in a vast world not of his making. 

"Yeah, chere," was all he said, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. She came to him and wrapped him in a hug, and he returned it, feeling her softness next to his own worn form. 

"You comin' back?" She knew there was a good chance the answer was no. But Remy surprised even himself. 

"Oui. I am. Bet on it." He took her chin and looked into her teary eyes, knowing his own weren't much better. "I promise." He let his hand fall back to his side. "You still be here for me?" 

"Of course I will, you stupid Cajun thief!" Rogue shouted. "I love you!" Silence fell, as both of them took in the implications. 

"I love you too," said Remy slowly, but with a sureness. "I love you too." 

"Go," choked Rogue, her tears starting anew. "Go on. Still got some things you have to do." Remy nodded and picked up his bag again. He put it carefully in the back of the car and then put his hand on the driver's side door. 

"See you soon, Marie." 

"Be safe, Remy LeBeau." She stood back as he vaulted the door and drove away down the drive, the gates opening and closing indifferently. Marie watched the car until it was a speck against the evergreens. She turned back to the mansion, but instead went along a side path to the boathouse. She had learned things about the X-Men in these few days that her world had been flipped on its end. So-called friends and false sympathy, loyalty given by hypocrites. Things she could live without. Remy's furniture was still there, smelling of smoke but usable with an airing. Rogue curled up in his bed, the indentation of his head still on the pillow, smell of his cologne and a few copper hairs still on the sheets. The dawning sun reflected off the water and came into Rogue's new room, blinding and bittersweet. 

THE END

__ Awww…don't cry! I'm still writin'! I have two series(s?) ::Captain Amazing: Nemesis? Nemesi? What's the…plural on that?:: going that need attention desperately, and one of them (as if you couldn't guess) features Gambit! So you all won't be deprived of that lovely patois for long!  __

As always, I was overwhelmed by the response that I got on this fic. You guys who review and send me emails are the lifeblood of writers everywhere, and I'm truly grateful to every single person who left a me a comment. Thanks to my friends Addie Logan, Colonel Gambit and Wildcard00, for being part of the best fan club on the planet and yelling at me until I finished this fic. Now, I know you guys are all waiting for a plug, so I'll make it short and sweet: [www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx][1]_. Log on. Join up. Be moved. (Sorry, I saw 'Swordfish' last night! Hugh Jackman plays golf in nothing but a towel! Check the film out along with my website!) I should end this here, before I ramble myself into a stupor, so, to all my fellow writers, Marvelites and Gambit lovers—keep it up. Good job. Au revoir. _

   [1]: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx



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